


even though you are drowning in valleys of echoes

by leigh57



Category: 24
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a tiny post S7 AU ficlet</p>
            </blockquote>





	even though you are drowning in valleys of echoes

“I’d rather have a Smithwick’s,” she says when he hands her a Diet Coke.

“I’m not even supposed to give you caffeine.” He sits down and cracks open his own soda, irritated when he’s finished. Now he doesn’t have anything to do with his hands.

The wind’s picked up, harder and drier. She’s shivering, but she doesn’t rub her arms, doesn’t do anything people usually do when they’re cold. She just sits, wiggling her knee back and forth. He reaches behind him and pulls a jacket off the back of his chair. “Here.”

She looks at him. “Since when do you wear fleece?” Her smile packs fewer watts than Teri’s night light, but he gives her a B minus for effort.

“Kim sent it. Were going to Tahoe next month.”

“That sounds nice.” He halfway expects her not to take the coat, but she grabs it and slips it on, wrapping her arms around herself. “Thanks.”

She puts her feet up on the balcony railing and sips her soda. It’s quiet. She’s not wearing makeup, and even in the muted light she’s paler and more exhausted than she was after a full day of keeping up with (and sometimes sprinting far ahead of) him. He remembers what it was like, when saying a few words felt more tiring than running the New York Marathon, when sixteen hours spent upright and mostly sober, no holding the gun to his chest, fell into the category of a ‘good day.’ He’s not afraid of breaking her; that’s already done. Still, he’d like to believe he can get through one evening without creating smaller shards.

“When did they tell you I turn into a pumpkin?”

“You don’t have to go back,” he says softly. The shape of the words feels good in his mouth.

“What? What did you _do_?” She yanks her feet down and looks right at him, holding his gaze without the nervous glancing away she’s been doing since he walked into her hospital room. He sure as hell has her attention now.

“There are-” He clears his throat. He wants to skip this part; it’s not fair and it’s not necessary. “Some conditions. I can tell you now or . . . “ He realizes he started that sentence without a plan and closes his mouth.

“I-” Renee curls herself into his jacket, drawing a knee up to her chin. “Have absolutely no idea what to say to you.”

He swallows his soda until it burns and coughs a little. “Say you’ll answer my phone calls.” She’s taken off her shoes, but her free hand (wrist wrapped with white gauze) is now hidden inside the sleeve of his fleece. “Say you won’t do it again.”

“I’m not going to do it again.”

He’s grinning inside, because it’s so _her_ to rephrase that basic sentence rather than repeat it back to him. “Good.”

She pulls both legs up and stretches the jacket over them. She’s leaning her head on her knees, looking at him sideways. “I’ve been eating overcooked mac and cheese and mushy pears for two weeks now. They must have really good takeout here, if it’s not too late?”

“It’s not too late.” He stands and picks up their soda cans. “What do you like?”

“Indian.” She pushes her other hand into the pocket of his coat. “But if you don’t-”

“Indian sounds great.” He stands up, trying to minimize his smile. He can’t gauge his success, but she’s relaxed in the chair, watching the blinking headlights below (strangely like inverted stars), so that has to count for something. “I’ll see if I can find a menu.”


End file.
